


A Thrush came knocking

by 0positiv



Category: Sanctuary (TV), The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Now it's a real crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0positiv/pseuds/0positiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Nikola Tesla did not stop working while in hiding after his "death".<br/>And no matter how careful one is sometimes genius draws the attention of the wrong kind of people.<br/>(I always think this is finished and then I think of a new chapter. So yeah...have chapter three ^^'')</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A THRUSH came knocking

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Nothing mine, not making money. I am merely borrowing Tesla and the worlds of Sanctuary and MFU for a bit and take them for a little spin. ;)

„Go away, I’m busy.“

 

Tesla brushed past the man who had just come gliding into his lab oily as a sardine. He made sure to pass by him close enough to make the other step back without risk of accidentally touching that disgustingly modern suit. The fashion of the 1960’s was truly the worst since cravats went out of style. He wiped his hands on his handkerchief anyway once he reached the other side of the cramped room.

 

“But Mr. Mandić, you haven’t even heard my offer yet. I am sure…”

 

Nikola made an impatient gesture with his hand while searching for something on the table.

“Spare me. I am not interested, no matter what you are offering. Now go away.”

 

He wondered how this person had even heard of him, let alone why he would think that Dane Mandić had anything worth bargaining for. He obviously couldn’t go by the name of Tesla any longer since that man died alone and impoverished in a New York hotel in 1943.

 

He heard the funeral service was quite nice.

 

Nikola made a show of ignoring the intruder and started organizing his pens by size and in groups of three. It would not do to lose his temper and rip out the ape’s throat. Especially because it would create such a mess. Blood stains would never come out of the carpet.

 

Who could that tall obnoxious fool be working for? Surely he wasn’t from the government. Not from one of those confusing organisations that went by acronymic three-or-more-letter-names and yet somehow were all the same underneath.

 

A private group then. And surely this was merely a foot man and not the head of whatever corporation or rich men’s club he represented here.

 

“We know you are short on funds, Mr Mandić, and that your experiments are costly. We are willing to finance any and all of your projects as long…”

 

A sharp glare and an angry sound stopped the sales pitch mid-sentence.

 

“As long as you can then come and take my work and use it for whatever villainous scheme you are hatching? Do I look like a fool to you?”

 

He stepped around the table and stalked towards the stranger angrily.

 

“My work is my own and I am not for sale. Especially not if your kind is making the offer.”

 

The man nervously straightened his skinny tie. Had he imagined it or did Mandić’s eyes look darker all of a suddenly? He resisted the urge to step back again. But only just. He told himself that he really had nothing to fear of a short and skinny looking foreigner.

 

“Now, really, there is no reason to feel insulted by our offer. We merely wish to support unappreciated genius like your own. A mind like yours should be able to follow every idea without having to worry about such mundane things as money.”

 

“You are the fool then. That was never the way of the world and it never will be. Progress has always been won through hardship and adversary. And more fool whoever believes that what you are offering does not come with so many strings attached that you can control the poor soul like a puppet master controls his puppets.”

 

“No, that is not our intention at all, I assure you. We don’t want _you_ to work for _us_. We want you to work for _yourself_. We shall support whatever use you have in mind for your inventions. We _might_ make suggestions for their use but we’ll of course leave it all up to you, in the end.”

 

The stranger put on his best car-salesman-smile, designed to look trustworthy and friendly, yet falling short on both accounts.

 

Nikola went past him again to pick up a half empty bottle of very dry red wine that was standing on the window sill. He filled a wine glass precisely three-quarters full then swirled the liquid around the glass a bit before taking a sip. Only after thoroughly appreciating the taste did he turn back to his unwanted guest.

 

“Why are you still here? Haven’t I made it clear enough that I have no interest to fall into your trap? Surely you are not so stupid that I have to use pictograms?”

 

The fake smile turned into a much more real offended frown. Tesla smirked and took another sip of wine.

 

“There really is no reason to insult me, Mr Mandić. This is just a friendly offer from a group who has been following your work for a little while now. We think a partnership would be mutually beneficial. We also realize that with the trips you take to Europe and Asia regularly and your good taste in wine you have been more than once forced to earn your rent by … shall we say…being very good at counting cards?”

 

Nikola gripped the glass tighter, having to use every effort to remain calm.

 

“And now you are accusing me of cheating at cards? I give you exactly five seconds to leave my lab before I am forced to remove you myself.”

 

Seeing that the carrot wouldn’t yield results the intruder switched to the stick.

 

“We are not the kind of people you want to anger, Mr Mandić. You should want to stay on our good side because our enemies tend to have a very short life expectancy.”

 

He followed the thread with his most menacing glare which only managed to make Tesla roll his eyes.

 

“Three seconds…..two….one…zero.”

 

Nikola grabbed the modified Taser lying on the work bench and without another warning shot the intruder with it.

 

As soon as the body on the ground stopped convulsing he walked over with a disgusted look on his face. He checked for a pulse and when he was satisfied that he had not killed the stupid oaf he took out his wallet to see which organisation exactly he had just made his enemy. The only business cards the man carried had a stylised picture of a bird in flight on it. No name, a post box address and a New York phone number.

 

He sighed deeply. It seemed he would have to go through the annoying steps of going underground again. What a fortunate coincidence that a lead to the lost city of Bhalasaam had just turned up. And a very promising lead at that. He flicked the card onto the unconscious man and started packing.

 

 


	2. An UNCLE came knocking

 

“Is there a nest of you people somewhere around here?”

 

Nikola looked up exasperatedly at the two men who had just forced their way in through his locked door, by using a tiny amount of explosives of all things. Youths today had no style, at all….

 

The pair could not have consisted of two less alike individuals. One was dark haired and very American looking with his dimpled chin and the 1960’s excuse for fashionable clothes while the other was slightly shorter, blonde as a Swede and dressed in a slightly rumpled looking black suit. He did not look particularly American at all.

 

They both wore identical expressions of surprise as they looked down at Tesla’s unconscious guest. Then they slowly lowered their weapons and shared an unreadable look.

 

“You know, it really isn’t rocket science. If I don’t say ‘Come’ when you hammer on my door like a madman you’re not welcome inside. Now take your obnoxious friend there and get lost.”

 

Tesla flicked his hand at the man sprawled on the carpet and then continued packing up the essentials of his lab and personal effects.

 

“Mr. Mandić?”, the dark haired one asked as they both put their guns back into their shoulder holsters.

 

“Mr. Dane Mandić of Serbia, recently immigrated to the US and working as a free lance researcher in physics? My name is Napoleon Solo, this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin. We work for an organisation called U.N.C.L.E….”

 

“And if you worked for the aunt and nephew and the whole stupid family I am not interested, as I told the other guy. _He_ didn’t listen either and you can see where that got him.”

 

The blond one crouched down, felt for a pulse at the unconscious man’s neck and then picked up the business card from his chest.

 

“THRUSH, which means our information was right. We were just a little too late, mostly because you got us lost.” He shot up a fake annoyed look at his partner before letting the card drop again as he stood up again. It sailed to the floor a foot away from the body. While the other’s English was terribly American, this one spoke with a mix between an English and an Eastern European accent. Interesting.

 

Nikola decided to call them Bonaparte and Wellington. Honestly, which mother in their right mind calls their child Napoleon of all things…?

 

As Bonaparte threw the other an annoyed look about the “getting us lost” comment, Wellington started prowling the lab. He bent down now and then to look closer at some of the half finished machines on the tables. The smile that spread over his face was childish and nearly innocent.

 

“You have some amazing things here, Mr. Mandić. Does this do what I think it does?”

 

He pointed at a tangle of wires that should have become an EM-shield for the lab but got left unfinished somewhere between the new earthquake machine and the weather machine.

 

Nikola grumbled in Serbian about nosy good-for-nothings.

 

“It doesn’t _do_ anything, it’s not finished. Now step back, you might hurt yourself.”

 

He shooed the Blonde away from the table then collected some bottles of wine from a cupboard.

 

Illya grinned about the slightly old-fashioned Serbian and replied in the same tongue:

 

“We are sorry to have disturbed you. We merely were worried about your safety.”

 

Nikola brushed past him again and scoffed. He put the wine into one of his bags.

 

At Napoleon’s questioning look Illya continued in English:

 

 “We do not work with the man who’s currently playing carpet. Actually, we work against his organisation. And so, when we found out that they wanted to employ you…”

 

“You came to offer me more money so _you_ can own me instead?”, Nikola interrupted him.

 

Now Bonaparte cut back in:

 

“No, we have no intention of ‘owning’ you, Mr. Mandić. We merely wanted to make sure that _they_ wouldn’t either. THRUSH really is bad news, for everyone. They are hell bent on world domination and don’t care about the number of casualties on the way. Which is why we at the United Network Command for …”

 

“Lame Excuses?”, Nikola interjected sarcastically. “Spare me the spiel. I am not interested in you, or your friends or the tug of war you’re engaged in. I merely want to be left alone and work in peace.”

 

Tesla shooed Wellington away from the dismantled earthquake machine. The Blonde stepped back with a grin on his face, like he was indulging an eccentric grumpy grandfather.

 

“We fear that THRUSH will not leave you in peace now that they have their eyes on you, Mr. Mandić. U.N.C.L.E can help you. We have save houses, the means to provide you with a new identity. We can keep you safe from them.”

 

There was a lot of sincerity in the Blonde’s voice.

 

Tesla still wasn’t impressed.

 

He grabbed his bags and stalked past them to the door.

 

“Go back to Waterloo or wherever you two crawled out from. I don’t need your help.”

 

He flicked the light switch as he walked past Napoleon to the door. Outside in the hall he turned around and looked back at the two agents who were trading glances again.

 

“Also, if you don’t want to get blown up in ten seconds you might want to get out of the lab.”

 

He hurried down the stairs with a triumphant grin on his face as the agents traded comical looks of surprise before grabbing the unconscious THRUSH and dragging him out of the door.

 

They had just reached the next landing as with a deafening boom the whole lab went up in flames. Of Mandić they found no trace outside or anywhere else.


	3. A question of identity

“It seems our Serbian friend isn’t who he pretends to be.”

 

With a slapping sound a suspiciously thin folder landed on Napoleon’s desk. He looked up questioningly at his partner. As soon as they’d returned from that not very successful mission two days ago Illya had stalked to section IV to find out more about the elusive scientist. And, knowing his partner, had most likely lingered in the shadows with a disgruntled expression until the men and women working at the computers had produced results. Illya didn’t like being nearly blown up. He preferred _doing_ the blowing up.

 

“Now isn’t that an unexpected turn. Maybe he’s not as innocent as we’d assumed?”

 

Napoleon opened the folder and found copies of the man’s passport, driver’s licence, university degrees. It all bore the name “Dane Mandić” and the picture in the passport was definitely their man.

 

“They are all fakes. The passport was first used in 1945 after the End of World War II, which is when Mandić allegedly immigrated to the United States as a refugee at 21 years of age”, Illya informed him. “And that apart from his bank account, which is now empty, and some purchases of equipment is all the information section IV was able to find on the man. Oh, also his passport has been used for regular trips to Europe and Asia in the last years. Identification and degrees are very good fakes, expensive I am sure, yet the man had hardly enough in his bank account to pay his rent. I think he must have influential friends somewhere.”

 

Napoleon nodded his consent. “But not THRUSH friends?”

 

“No, we could find no prior contact between him and THRUSH, at least not under this name. We are running his picture through a new face recognition computer but I am not really expecting results. It is still in the test stages and we haven’t worked out all the troubles yet. Last week it matched a picture of you to Elvis Presley.”

 

The amused look on the Russian’s face made Napoleon glare at him with exaggerated scorn.

 

“Elvis Presley is a good looking man, no wonder your computer mistook me for him. What did it match your face with? Lawrence of Arabia?”

 

Illya’s grin widened. “Of course not, what ever gave you that idea? Anyway, back to the questions at hand. We can’t even find proof that Mandić is actually Serbian. There is no birth record of anyone by that name in Serbia. It also doesn’t seem to be an anagram for anyone who was ever born in Serbia. But when he spoke Serbian to us I would say it sounded genuine. Slightly old-fashioned, like you’d hear from people who have grown up in small isolated villages but definitely Serbian.”

 

Napoleon closed the folder again. “So we have no way of finding out what his real name is or where he might have vanished to? I take it this passport has not been used since he blew up his lab and singed our suits? Oh, that reminds me…We still need to write up our expenses.”

 

The Russian lifted an eyebrow. “I _have_ already written up all my expenses _and_ our reports. I am not writing up your expenses, you can do that yourself. And no, we have no idea what his real name is or which other fake identifications he might posses. He vanished like a ghost after that fire, like he doesn’t even exist. And I am sure if he planned to leave the country he already has so it will be no use sending his picture to the airports. If he is still in America he could be half way across the country or right under our noses, there is no way to tell.”

 

At that moment Illya’s communicator chirped and section IV summoned the two agents to inspect the results of the face recognition program. 

 

Without any high hopes of gaining useful information they hurried along the grey walled corridors to section IV.

 

“After you”, Napoleon gestured for his partner to enter first as the doors slid open.

 

“Brains before beauty?” Illya replied with a smirk and stepped inside.

 

The room was, as always, buzzing with typing, the humming and whirring of the machines and quiet discussions of results. Their entrance gained them hardly more than a passing glance from the busy technicians. Some of the women smiled at Napoleon as the walked past them and he dutifully flirted back to the best of his ability. Illya merely rolled his eyes and made a bee line for the face recognition computer.

 

“Any joy, Samson?”

 

“Completely joyless, I’m afraid, Mr. Kuryakin. Not without comic value but not much help with your run away scientist. I fear we will never get this thing to work reliably.”

 

With a sad sigh he handed Illya several printed pages. One contained the picture from Mandić’s passport next to a black and white photograph of a man who did actually look strikingly similar. The next pages listed all the reference points the program had used to match the two pictures. It claimed 90% compatibility, which was high, very high. Yet it had claimed 85% for Napoleon and Elvis….

 

“I fear you’re right, Samson. This is completely impossible. I do see a certain similarity, especially if you take away the moustache and change his hairstyle, but it is just not possible.”

 

Napoleon patted the technicians back.

 

“I am sure you did your best. But even then, some affairs we will never solve. And no matter how sure your computer is, _I_ am surer that this is not our man. Especially since he’s been dead for quite some time.”

 

Samson shrugged dejectedly as they took their leave.

 

Illya kept staring thoughtfully at the two pictures while they headed back to Napoleon’s office.

 

“He was rather famous while he lived, you know? That supposed match for Mandić” he told his partner while he waited for him to get the files in order so that they could put the case aside.

 

“I’ll just go check something”, Illya mumbled and vanished with that strange pensive look on his face. Napoleon shrugged and continued his paperwork. He was long used to his partner running off to follow some flight of fancy. Illya would tell him what it was, sooner or later, maybe.

 

“The curious thing is, he also had a brother named Dane…and his mother’s maiden name was Mandić”, Illya said thoughtfully as they headed to lunch later.

 

Napoleon lifted his eyebrows. “You are starting to worry me, partner mine. Believe me, we were _not_ nearly blown up by Nikola Tesla!”


End file.
